Note: This is the first part of the “Soon Series,” a series of blogs leading up to my wedding this Sunday!

If somebody had told me at that time that I would receive an engagement ring for my twenty-fourth birthday, I would not have believed it either.

Because on my twenty-second birthday, I was already convinced I would go down in history as the first spinster in both sides of my family.

I had, what I believed, was the Married-At-22-Or-Never curse.

— A curse deduced from the fact that both my mother and her mother were married at the age of 22, and if I didn’t marry at the exact same age, I would never marry at all.

Which may sound pretty ridiculous now, but at that time, the double-two was something I’d dreaded and anticipated all at once.

Twenty-two came and went with zero romantic prospects (much less a marriage proposal!)

Twenty-three came, and after one or two unfortunate dating attempts, I met Adam.

5th of April 2016

I think the best way to describe him to my friends and family (the majority of which has not even met him yet) is that Adam is both the man of my dreams and the anti-thesis of how I dreamed that man ought to be.

The so-called “Man of My Dreams” was an ever-changing ideal, the epitome of masculinity.

A Statue of David hopping from one high pedestal to another higher pedestal. 

At one point, he was a star player of the basketball varsity team.

At another, he was a consistent honor student.

He was even a close friend who condemned me to Friendzone.

It should come as no surprise that I eventually gave up on reality to present me with the man of my dreams, so I constructed one in my head, combining the finest attributes of my literary heroes:

Fitzwilliam Darcy 

Atticus Finch

And Ronald Bilius Weasley

I half-hoped that, just as Pygmalion dreamed Galatea to life, I would meet the man of my dreams sitting in a cafe, finishing the last page of a dense philosophical treatise, setting down his eyeglasses to rub his eyes, and upon seeing me for the first time, would rub them even harder in disbelief.

Bam!

Instant caffeine-induced chemistry!

Much as I’d love to indulge in hypothetical romantic fantasies, I’m here to write about my fiance who was 15 minutes late for our first date;

Who later redeemed himself by playing thumb wrestling with me on the beach;

Who took me to a seaside French restaurant which served overpriced but bland seafood pizza;

Who took the the 2-hour intercity bus home, missed the last bus going back, and got stranded in a different emirate for the night.

Needless to say, Adam is nothing like the coffee drinking philosopher of my Starbucks-sponsored dreams.

“My dignity,” he said.

He could very well be his anti-thesis, what with his dislike for coffee and reading and (almost) 20/20 vision.

But Adam can be just as charming (if not more charming) than his imaginary rival.

Big Adam with his baby cousin, Little Adam

When I first started dating him, I found his lack of ability to filter his thoughts before speaking, his most endearing quality.

Nevertheless, I took all his words with a grain of salt.

There’s just something about a man who translates his thoughts to words so fluently (and in different languages no less!) that unsettles me.

When Adam said he wanted to marry me just a few months after we started dating, I thought he wasn’t serious.

But then he also turned down a long-awaited job offer in Bahrain, started introducing me to his friends in Abu Dhabi and to his mom on the phone, and not long after that, he invited me to spend the holidays with his family in Egypt.

It was also Mama’s first visit to the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities in Cairo!

So yes, for all intents and purposes, Adam and I were already engaged even before our vacation last year.

A vacation which might have seemed spontaneous and carefree but actually took nearly half a year to plan and save — and yes, even fight over.

The purpose of our trip was simple: to receive Mama’s blessing for our marriage.

Adam and I were determined to hold on to what little customs we could keep, despite knowing ours was not going to be a traditional marriage.

The stereotypical Filipino wedding is a big white church wedding where the blushing bride would float down the aisle in the arms of her parents and towards her groom, standing in front of the altar.

An Egyptian marriage is not much different, because after the solemn Muslim ceremony comes the party attended by the bride and groom’s family and friends and a thousand other distant relations.

There is food and music and dancing in unsurprisingly large proportions.

Thankfully, given our circumstances as foreigners in the U.A.E, Adam and I will be spared of the marital spectacle which our respective societies expect of us.

But we still staunchly refused to marry without the blessings of our family.

For me, that means my mom and dad.

For him, an only son, that means one person only: his widowed mother.

On the evening before my twenty-fourth birthday, Adam took me to a Gold Souq to handpick an engagement-slash-wedding ring.

We went inside one of the shops whose Arabic name translated to “The Butterfly,” and asked to see their plain gold rings.

Why a plain gold ring exactly?

Because the last thing I need is to wear a heavy rock around my finger until the day I die.

I won’t be able to type fast enough with a diamond bobbing up and down my keyboard.

Nor can I wash the dishes, do the laundry, shop for groceries, and wipe my future kid’s poopy butt with a diamond ring.

Inevitable.

No, if I had to wear a piece of metal for the rest of life, it would have to be barely-there, thin, small, and silver…

… But no, Adam insisted we get a gold ring in keeping with his traditions.

In Egypt, women wear gold on their wedding day to symbolize how precious they are to the family they will leave behind and to the new family they will join.

As an interesting footnote, most Egyptians look down on silver-ringed brides, because of a common misconception that silver is cheaper than gold (Trust me, it’s not. Adam and I learned it first-hand at the Gold Souq).

Ultimately, we compromised on a plain gold ring.

In keeping with my traditions, I insisted we get a ring that was already in my size.

Filipino superstitions hold that it is bad luck to take away even the tiniest piece of a wedding ring.

The problem was, I didn’t actually know my size, so I had to try on at least ten different rings until Adam asked me what the heck was wrong with my finger.

The Indian shopkeeper was very gracious and helped me find the perfect size.

And then the negotiations.

Blame it on the heavily-commercialized wedding industry, but jewellers (and florists, caterers, photographers, etc.) are quick to cash in on soon-to-be-wedded couples.

The original price was disproportionately exorbitant compared to our harmless-looking plain gold ring.

Adam was also visibly timid when it came to negotiating (which is ironic in retrospect considering he works in sales).

I decided to take matters into my own hands.

You know, literally. 

“My friend, give us a good price. My fiance is Muslim, you know, and I will be his first wife. He can still marry three wives after, and I will make him come back to this shop each time, I promise you that.”

Whether or not they were convinced by my dark sense of bridal humor, the shopkeepers were amused enough to give us 12% off of the original price.

And before either of us realized it, Adam and I were officially engaged.

Stay tuned for the rest of the “Soon Series”!